


It's Just Coffee Until It's A Promise

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel in the Bunker, Coffee, I Love Sam, M/M, Sam is awesome, figuring it out, human!Cas, jealous!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is human and Dean is freaking out.  </p><p>"No matter how late Dean stayed up with his mind and stomach churning, he dragged himself out of bed before anyone else was awake to make coffee. Then he hid in his room, the coffee going cold in his cup, because he was a grown man who was too afraid to find out whether Cas would still make it for him (which he didn’t deserve) or if he wouldn’t (which he couldn’t bear)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just Coffee Until It's A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, [IamKevinFreakingSolo!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamkevinfreakingsolo)

Dean walked into the kitchen, surprised to find it empty, the coffee pot still filled with the cold dregs from yesterday.  He was moving back towards the bedrooms when he ran into Sam.

 

“You seen Cas?”

 

Sam stopped, taking an extra beat to answer this straightforward question.  _This is what happens when Cas leaves us caffeine-deprived_ , thought Dean.

 

“Uh, no.  Why?”

 

“He’s usually up by now.  Maybe I should go check on him.”

 

Dean was probably imagining things but it seemed like Sam had shifted just enough to block him from going down the hall.

 

“Maybe he’s a grown man and you should leave him alone.”  Wow.  Somebody sure woke up on the bitch side of the bed.  Before Dean could respond Sam added, “I’m sure you remember how to make your own coffee.”

 

Ok, that was uncalled for.  Yes, it was nice that Cas was an early riser and always had the coffee going before Dean staggered half-blind to the kitchen each morning.  And yes, he’d taken to having a cup poured and fixed just the way Dean liked it when he heard him coming.  And ok, there had been a couple of times when he’d overslept and Cas had knocked on his door to deliver the coffee to him before he even got out of bed, but none of that was the point.  The _point_ was that this was unusual behavior for Cas and, as his friends, perhaps they should be concerned about that. 

 

Dean was preparing to explain this selfless motive that had absolutely zero to do with having to make his own coffee when he heard a door open.  He looked to Cas’ door, before realizing the sound came from Sam’s room.  Cas stepped into the hall, clearly having just woken up, and blinked at the brothers.  Dean looked back and forth between Cas and Sam. Neither of them met his eyes.  Sam sighed and waved awkwardly at Cas. 

 

“Uh, hey Cas.”

 

Cas nodded and walked across the hall to his own room, closing the door behind him.  Dean turned to Sam, his face hard.  Sam sighed again using both hands to push back his hair. 

 

“It’s not what you think, ok?”

 

“So, it’s not Cas coming out of your room after being there all night?”

 

“Ok, yes, but—“

 

Dean held up his hands, palms out.  “Hey, whatever freaky shit you two get up to in the privacy of your own room is none of my business.” 

 

“Dean.”

 

But Dean was gone, the jingling of his keys replaced by the slamming of the door.

 

****

Dean drove with no intent other than putting distance between himself and the bunker.  He’d overreacted, coming off like a jealous teenage girl, and if he went back anytime soon, Sam was probably going to make them all sit down for a family therapy session.  Better to just keep driving.

 

It was increasingly obvious that he had no claim to Cas.  Cas talked about their “profound bond” but what the hell did that even mean?  Yeah, they’d been through some shit together and like war buddies, they shared experiences that nobody on the outside could truly understand.   But that sharing ended with memories.  It didn’t include beds.

 

He glanced in the rear view mirror, remembering a time shortly after Cas had become human.  They’d all three been driving home from a hunt when Dean had looked back to see Cas sound asleep, his head against the window, the line of his neck exposed.   Obviously Dean _knew_ Cas was human, but it hadn’t become real for him until that moment.  He was struck by how fragile Cas looked, how vulnerable he’d become, and how easily they could lose him forever.  Something like a sob had risen in his chest then, unbidden and unexpected and it wasn’t until Sam had jabbed him in the shoulder to refocus his attention on the road that he’d pulled his gaze away from Cas, faking a coughing fit to relieve the tension in his chest and explain the wetness in his eyes.

 

Put Dean anywhere on the wheel of emotions that ranged from guilt to anger and he was right at home.  But this realization had left him squarely in the unwelcome and inhospitable land of helpless, which didn’t sit well with him.  Maybe he went a little over the top trying to find aspects of Cas’ situation that he _could_ control…nagging Cas to eat regularly, making sure he had warm clothes, even buying him a bottle of goddamned vitamins.  Cas listened to all of Dean’s suggestions gravely, nodding like he was the source of all human knowledge and he would’ve laughed at the absurdity of _Dean Winchester, Life Coach_ if he weren’t so caught up in keeping his own panic tamped down.  No matter what he did, no matter how many quarts of orange juice he bought, that panic bled through and he found himself snapping at Cas over stupid little things like whether or not he was getting enough sleep. 

 

Maybe that’s why he’d tolerated what happened the other night. 

 

He’d been watching TV on the couch with Cas right next to him (despite the fact that every other seat in the goddamned room was empty) when he realized that Cas had fallen asleep, his head against Dean’s shoulder. He’d tried to ease his way out from under him, holding his breath that Cas would stay asleep, but Cas had snapped open one sleepy blue eye and given him a look that clearly said _I pulled your sorry ass from Hell so the least you could do is make like a pillow for the next fifteen minutes_ so he’d settled himself back down and done just that. Except for maybe it was a lot longer than fifteen minutes and maybe Cas had wrapped both arms around his and snaked his hand down until their fingers intertwined.  And maybe Dean had let himself relax and lay his cheek on the top of Cas’ head wondering how it was that they all used the same soap and shampoo and laundry detergent but Cas smelled like rain and ozone and something that reminded him that he was too exotic to be there, that he would never stay. 

 

It was when Dean started to think how easy it would be to pull Cas down onto the couch alongside him and stay that way all night or forever, that he woke Cas up and sent him to bed, his voice coming out a little more gruffly than he’d intended.  And fuck if Cas hadn’t _nuzzled_ into his neck first before sitting up and padding off.

 

 

But, yeah, apparently any Winchester brother would do for Cas. 

 

****

Dean sighed and turned the car around.  That was all this was: an overreaction on his part, born from the edginess he’d been feeling since Cas became human.  He’d been so focused on the physical aspects he’d forgotten humans needed a lot of things besides food and clothing and shelter.  Humans had feelings and concerns and anxieties and they needed reassurance and encouragement all sorts of touchy-feely stuff. As much as Dean ragged on him for his _sensitive side_ , Sam exuded an easy compassion that Dean could never hope to uncover in himself.   Perhaps between the two of them, Sam and Dean could give Cas what he needed and support him through this transition.

 

So Dean went back to the bunker and, as usual, they all pretended nothing had happened.  It was easier that way, with each of them in their own orbits, co-existing without really interacting.  Dean spent most of his time in his room and when he ventured out, he skulked around barely speaking to Sam and completely unable to even look at Cas.  Unless you counted the glances he stole at him whenever he walked into a room and the subtle looks before he left and maybe he found excuses to come out of his own room when he heard Cas wandering around in the common areas of the bunker.  Mostly Cas wouldn’t look at him but every now and then he’d catch him staring with that look in his eyes like he wanted something from Dean and couldn’t believe Dean didn’t know what it was.

 

But you know what?  Dean didn’t need that from him.  He didn’t need him looking at him like he’d let him down.  Cas--like everyone else in his life—should know by now that that was what he did.  That was who he was.  He would always fail them, no matter how hard he tried, and he would find a way to push them away when they needed him most.

 

****

Dean had sat there on the couch that night letting the circulation return to his arm, the warmth of his friend replaced by cold, empty air.  He was more than a little freaked out by how weird it _hadn’t_ felt.  At first he thought maybe it was just the relief at having all three of them safe and together and under one roof mixed with a sleepy haze of warmth and physical closeness.  But if he was being honest, that wasn’t exactly it.  It somehow felt…complete.  Like, if a genie had poofed in at that moment offering him a wish, he would’ve waved him off with his free hand, adding _Nah, man, I’m good_ , in a whisper so as not to wake Cas. 

 

But that was crazy.  Besides, the one lesson life had drilled into him again and again?  Anything that made him that happy couldn’t be trusted.  Either it was an illusion to begin with or it would be ripped from him later so what was the point of opening himself up?  He’d sat there until he’d convinced himself that it was nothing more than Cas’ newfound need for closeness and human touch that had caught him off guard.

 

The next day he’d taken a page of out his own playbook, a well-worn, dog-eared page that came second only to Page Number One: _Protect Sam_ and avoided Cas all day, spending the morning alone at a diner where he drank terrible coffee and tried not to think about why he was using his tried and true method of worming out the morning after on his best friend. 

 

Really, it was no wonder Cas had ended up turning to Sam that night.

 

****

No matter how late he stayed up with his mind and stomach churning, he dragged himself out of bed before anyone else was awake to make coffee. Then he hid in his room, the coffee going cold in his cup, because he was a grown man who was too afraid to find out whether Cas would still make it for him (which he didn’t deserve) or if he wouldn’t (which he couldn’t bear).

 

This went on for four days.

 

The evening of the fourth day, there was a knock on his door.  Just in case, Dean brushed the crumbs off his shirt and ran a hand through his hair before saying “Come in.”

 

It was Sam.  And Dean knew his brother hadn’t done anything wrong, not really.  He’d been kind to their friend, given Cas something he couldn’t, and how could Dean fault him for that?  He was nearly ready to move on from all of this, except for instead of simply saying “Hey” to his brother what came out of his mouth was:

 

“You’ve got the wrong room.  He’s across the hall.”

 

Dean knew this would end in a fight, and truthfully, he didn’t care.  It would feel good to hit something and if that something was his brother, then so be it.  It wouldn’t be the first time and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

 

Sam came all the way into the room, closing the door carefully behind him, like he was making a deliberate point of not slamming it.  He had on his _We’re Going To Talk Even If It Kills You_ face and Dean idly wondered if it would be less painful to pre-emptively shoot himself in the head. 

 

“Can we please be done with the hiding and pouting and slamming doors and just talk about this?”

 

“I am not pouting.”

 

“Do you think I don’t notice that every time Cas opens his door, you peek out of your room to see if he’s coming to mine?”

 

 _Not every time_ , thought Dean.  Because he could totally hear when his footsteps were heading in the other direction towards the bathroom.

 

“Look, do you want to know why Cas was in my room the other night?”

 

“If you are going to confess your undying love for him, I promise I will never stop throwing up.”  Oh Jesus, there was no way Sam and Cas were in love, right?  Dean would’ve noticed something before now.  I mean, come on.  That stare Cas had, the one like he was re-charging the blue in his eyes by sucking the power from your soul, that was _Dean’s_ look.  Not Sam’s.  Not ever. 

 

Sam rolled his eyes so hard that Dean could almost hear them clinking against his skull.  “Ohmygod, you’re actually worried about that.  Jesus, you’ve got it bad.”

 

Dean was debating which of these obviously and outrageously false statements to refute first, but his decision-making cost him a tactical advantage when his brother took his delayed response as an invitation to keep talking.

 

“I came out of my room that night and found Cas sitting on the ground outside your door.”  Even if Dean hadn’t wanted to hear this Sam had his full attention now.  “I thought maybe he was sick or something and when I asked him what was wrong, he started to cry.  Like real tears and snot and everything.  What the hell was I going to do?  Leave him there like that?  So I took him into my room to get him calmed down.“

 

“Why didn’t he just knock on my door if he was so upset?” Dean knew damn well why he hadn’t, but without knowing what Cas had told Sam, it seemed wiser to play dumb. 

 

“That’s _why_ he was upset, Dean.  He didn’t know if he could.  He’s got all these emotions now that he’s human--and let’s face it, his people skills weren’t great to begin with—so now he’s trying to navigate all the mixed messages that people,“ and here he corrected himself “that _you_ give him and it left him in a literal puddle on the floor.”  Sam said this as if it were perfectly obvious what Dean had done.  “So, anyhow, we talked and he was better for a bit, but he just looked so sad and alone and I couldn’t bear to send him away so…I made him a bed on the floor.  Like you used to do for me at Bobby’s.”

 

Dean allowed himself a small smile.  When John would drop them off at Bobby’s, Dean had cherished the chance for some privacy after all that time crammed together on the road. But Sam hated being by himself, he got scared and had bad dreams so they’d made an arrangement: Sam had to start out in his own bedroom, but if he got scared, he could come into Dean’s.  As much as Dean grumbled about it, he never went to bed without laying out a pillow and a couple of blankets on the floor for his brother and each morning the first thing he did was peer over the edge of his bed, checking to see that Sammy was there, safe and asleep on the hard floor.

 

This memory of happier, simpler times evaporated when Sam said, “Look, I don’t know what you did to him, what stupid thing you said or what cowardly thing you didn’t say, but you need to fix it.”  And here Sam’s tone softened.  “Dean, Cas is talking about leaving.”

 

****

Dean stands outside the door, gathering his courage.  He rests his forehead against the cool metal of the frame and reminds himself that he is Dean Freaking Winchester who sends demons screaming back to hell and stopped the apocalypse and there’s no reason to be intimidated by one blue-eyed ex-angel. 

 

He knocks quietly on the door, not so loudly that Cas can tell him to get lost, but not so softly that Cas won’t hear it and waits a few agonizing seconds before being told to come in.   Cas looks at him, his mouth pressed together in a small, tense line.

 

“Oh, are we speaking now?”  There’s a slight edge to this and Dean’s not sure if he’s being sarcastic or just making a Castiel-speaks-the-obvious observation.

 

“If that’s ok with you.”  He’d sort of thought maybe he’d just need to come in here and dispense a hug or something, but Cas’ tone along with the fully packed duffel sitting on the desk have sobered his approach.

 

Cas shrugs and manages the smallest of nods, continuing to stand near the desk. 

 

“So, I, uh, owe you an apology.” 

 

“Don’t bother.  Your sentiments have been made perfectly clear.  It’s my fault for misinterpreting them.  I’m sure I’ll get better at these things with time.”

 

“Cas.”

 

“There is no reason for me to stay here.  I’m nothing but a liability and a drain on your time and resources.  Baby in a trench coat, remember?” and Dean could kick himself for ever saying that, for implying that Cas’ entire worth was wrapped up in his powers. “I can see it when you look at me.  How it frustrates and angers you to have to teach me every little thing.”

 

“Cas, that’s not it.” Before he can explain, Cas is walking to the door, holding it open.

 

“I’d like you to leave now.”

 

Dean stands there for a moment, his jaw working, before straightening his shoulders and walking out.  Cas closes the door behind him.

 

“Shit,” Dean whispers.

 

He stays in the hall, listening to Cas move around the room, stands there until he hears the creak of bedsprings and the snap of the lamp turning off.  Then he opens the door.

 

The room is dark other than the soft glow of the nightlight he’d bought when he was worried Cas might trip over something in the middle of the night.

 

He waits in the doorway for Cas to say something and when his presence is met with silence he thinks to himself _If things are going to end bloody—and they always do—who says I can’t have some happiness along the way?_

 

Closing the door, he makes his way across the room, peeling off a couple of extra layers until he’s in just his t shirt and jeans.  Before Cas can say a word, he’s pulled back the covers and slid into bed next to him.

 

Cas look at him, equal parts weary and wary, then lets his head fall back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling.

 

“Have the rules governing personal space changed as well?  I really should be taking notes.”  Ok, that is some Grade A snark Cas has developed and Dean would be proud of the strides he’s made if it weren’t being tossed at him like darts, each word leaving small, sharp jabs. 

 

“I just want to talk to you.  You didn’t let me apologize.” 

 

Cas lets out a huffy breath.  “Fine.”

 

 “Look.  Do you want to know the secret to being human?  Here it is: Nobody knows what the hell they’re doing.  Nobody.  It’s a constant matter of screwing up followed by trying to make it better.  And I’ve been the one screwing up so now I’m going to try and make it better.” 

 

“Hey,” Dean moves his leg, just enough to nudge Cas with his foot in the hope that Cas will turn and look at him.   Cas responds by rolling onto his side, facing Dean, and that’s enough to make Dean pause, his breath catching in his chest, but he can’t--he won't-- stop talking now.

 

“I’m not _mad_ that you’re human.  I’m _scared_.   And I’m not good with scared.  It makes me act like a jerk.  And the more scared I get, the more of a dick I become.”

 

Cas is starting to squint and Dean can almost hear the question forming in his mind.  Dean won’t wait for him to ask it; Cas deserves the truth without having to pry it out of him.  He takes a deep breath and reaches towards Cas, his hand finding the edge of his sleeve.  He rolls the fabric of Cas’ t-shirt between his thumb and fingers for a beat before sliding his hand underneath to rest it there on his upper arm. 

 

“I’m terrified of losing you.  That something is going to happen to you and I won’t be able to protect you.  And I thought that was the worst part, but then I came in here tonight and found something that scared me even worse.”  He nods toward the packed bag across the room.  “It would be bad enough to lose you, but I think it would kill me if you chose to leave.”

 

They lie there in silence, just the sound of their breathing taking up one small part of the darkened room.  Dean feels more vulnerable than he ever has because this isn’t something he can fight his way out of.  He’s put it all out there for Cas and no matter what happens, even if this is the end of them right now, he knows it was the right thing to do. 

 

When Cas finally reacts, it’s to make a small move, to place his hand on Dean’s hip. He doesn’t pull Dean close, just curls a finger through a belt loop, connecting them.  Nothing more is said, but it’s enough for Dean, this little gesture, knowing that it means Cas won’t go.  They relax into the comfort that comes with each other’s nearness, feeling a heat between them that feels not so much like passion—not yet—but like a promise. 

 

******

Dean wakes first the next morning, with Cas wrapped warm and safe against his chest.  He spends a long time just looking at him, disbelieving that the world has granted him anything this good, letting that tiny glimmer of Cas’ belief in him grow to a flush of warmth that spreads from his head to his toes, before slipping out of the room to knock on Sam’s door.

 

“Sammy,” Sam pulls a pillow over his head.

 

“No.  Nope.  I do not want details.”

 

“What?  No.  Shut up.  It wasn’t like that.”

 

“So this isn’t you coming out of Cas’ room after being there all night?”  Sam grins and Dean wonders if he’s actually been rehearsing that line.

 

“Yes, but… just still shut up.  I need your help.”

 

“Need some smooth moves?   I’m your man.”  Sam sits up and flips his hair and while Dean would rather fight a pack of hell hounds than admit it, he’s slightly impressed by the way his brother can look like a shampoo model first thing in the morning.

 

“God, now I need to bleach my brain.  No, I need your help because I can’t remember the way Cas likes his coffee.”

 

Sam sighs.  “How can you not remember this?”  He tilts his head to the side, mimes holding a mug, and lowers his voice about three octaves.  “Paradoxically, the added sugar seems to be enhancing the bitterness.”

 

At this, Dean giggles.  Dean Winchester honest to fuck _giggles_.  Sam is kind enough to ignore it, but you can be damn sure he’s filed it away for future use.

 

“Milk, Dean.  Like, 1/3 of the cup milk.  And heat it in the microwave first before you add the coffee.”

 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean grins at him before disappearing out the door.

 

 

 


End file.
